


How To Feel

by homosexual_screaming



Category: Original Work
Genre: anyway let's get this bread, im like crying it's great, it's just a vent, its in 3rd person bc thats how it be when u dissociate, my dad literally just grabbed my laptop and read through this because he doesnt trust me :), please be nice im tired, the main character is me, this is about how i dissociate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 19:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18723730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homosexual_screaming/pseuds/homosexual_screaming





	How To Feel

The first thing he can actually register when he opens his eyes is the fact that he isn’t registering anything.

He’s used to it by now, but that doesn’t make it suck less.

He sighs blankly and sits up, hoping the movement doesn’t make too much noise, but can’t find it in himself to care.

He digs his feet into the carpet with each step around his room, feeling a million miles away from his walls and from everything else.

 

His eyes land on a long shirt, so he shrugs his current one off, along with his pants, and replaces them with said shirt. It feels cool against his skin, he hasn’t worn it in a while, he thinks.

He curls his toes and tries to remember what carpet feels like.

He takes a tentative step, not knowing where he’s going or why. But it’s better than standing still, so he takes another.

He’s in the kitchen. Maybe his body wanted food?

He microwaves a bunch of chicken nuggets. Maybe the taste will ground him.

He’s wrong. And about a pound heavier now.

A blurred-out hint of regret moves in him, but it ebbs just as fast as it flowed in.

He stomps on the ground, forcing his foot into the hardwood floor of the kitchen and feeling a shooting pain run up his leg. So that’s what it’s like to feel.

He limps towards his room, not sure why he bothers, and not remembering why he left it.

He’s in his room with no memory of going there.

He slowly, sluggishly crawls into his bed, where he hugs a pillow in a vice-like grip.

He hears voices, but not words.

Hears noises, but not sounds.

Hears a heartbeat, but doesn’t feel his pulse.

His eyes fall shut, and he knows as he drifts to sleep that he won’t remember why he’s here, why his leg will hurt in the morning, but he also holds onto the idea that maybe, just maybe, he will actually be able to feel.


End file.
